


Bad Decisions and artful Consequences

by walkerofthestars



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe- street gang AU, Angst, Birdflash - Freeform, Brothers bonding, Fluff, M/M, Reverse Batfam AU, Whump, artist Dick Grayson, civillian!AU, in the background - Freeform, not graphyic but you know it's there, tw swearing, tw violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 00:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29037963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkerofthestars/pseuds/walkerofthestars
Summary: Dick Grayson sneaks out at night to hang out with his friends- an amalgamation of rambunctious teenagers who may or may not have accidentally become a graffiti based street gang.Understandably, his brothers are concerned.This was a Secret Santa present for a friend of mine, figured I'd post it here now, enjoy!
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Tim Drake, Dick Grayson/Wally West
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	Bad Decisions and artful Consequences

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sky_Warrior01](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sky_Warrior01/gifts).



Dick isn’t exactly sure _when_ it all started, just that it had and he found it so hilariously awesome that he’d never regret it ever in his life.

Saturday morning, four thirty-six, December nineteenth, he rolled into his bedroom via the window. He thumped onto the ground as he did so and giggled, then giggled at the fact that he was giggling, then loudly shushed himself. He’d climbed in from the tree right by the window, drunk on the feeling of adrenaline and arrogant teenaged rebellion.

Also off of alcohol. He was, on top of the cool awesome emotions thrumming through him, drunk off of actual alcohol, but it was only aiding in the sheer amount of excitement he always had coming home from nights like these.

He stood, stumbling, dizzy, shit how much had he drank? He… actually wasn’t sure. it was a miracle he’d made it up the tree and into the window, he accredited that miracle to the fact that he’d grown up an acrobat.

He shoved his head under the shower, so damn thankful that this house was so big no one could overhear him even if he was _trying_ to be noisy. He washed the smell of tobacco smoke and flaked cement and bitter sweat out of his hair and skin as best he could and grumbled as he eyed the dried paint caked to his fingers. He could’ve _sworn_ he’d been careful enough to not get the paint everywhere.

He could wear gloves, but half the point of this was living on the edge.

Although: fingerless gloves…

Cool looking, didn’t make him a noob for wanting to protect his skin, did actually cover some area of his hands, protected his knuckles for when these nights got violent. He liked that idea. He’d have to get some.

He shoved his pyjamas on, stumbling back into his bedroom. He remembered drinking more than one kind of alcohol and he _also_ remembered Artemis cackling at him and saying that he’d just sabotaged himself doing that. Mixing drinks didn’t end well. Technically Dick knew that, he’d been drunk before but…

He blinked, remembering his clothes from the night and the fact that he had to _hide_ them. He picked them up, almost falling over his own feet in the process, and stuffed them under the bed. It’d do for now, it wasn’t like anyone would be looking for suspiciously spray-painted clothes in his room, and Alfred didn’t clean bedrooms on Sundays. As he shoved the clothes under the bed he felt his stomach lurch and he immediately beelined back to the bathroom, everything blurring and fading at the edges.

He had not been this drunk before.

He usually made sure to stop himself before he got to this stage.

He leant against the wall, standing, the toilet beneath him, waiting for the vomit to come. Nothing. The nausea passed. He sighed, shoulders slumped, and made his way to the sink to splash water on his face.

Then he headed back to his bed, kicking the sleeves of his jacket to make sure they were under. Then he collapsed on the bed, face shoved into his pillow.

A voice in the back of his head that sounded an _awful_ lot like Bruce echoed about sleeping on your side and the dangers of vomiting on your back. Dick grumbled and awkwardly forced his limbs to move so he could lay on his side. His face was numb, his arms felt weird.

But he passed out, his mind managing to somehow be moving at a hundred miles an hour yet also at a snail’s pace. There was chaos and creativity winding around in the space between his ears.

But at least the noise wasn’t the usual thoughts he dealt with. He was happy about that.

So he went to sleep happy. Thank god for that.

Damian liked Sundays because they were his free days.

He spent weekdays at Wayne Enterprises and Saturdays on call to come in at the drop of a hat. He always stayed late at the office on Mondays, brought the work home Wednesdays, spent Fridays in the study of the manor with Bruce, bouncing ideas. Tuesday afternoon he devoted to the gym. Thursday he spent in his studio.

Sunday was _always_ free.

It didn’t line up that way with the rest of the family, and he was okay with that. This Sunday was a free day he could devote to whatever he wanted, but he knew Dick was also sporting an empty schedule for the day.

Dick had been in the family six years now, since he was nine. He was adopted at the youngest age of all the siblings and it was abundantly clear that Bruce hadn’t realised how different a nine year old could be to the previous ages he’d experienced in the art of parenting.

Damian valued his family, he cared for them, he wasn’t great at showing it but he _did_. He had always had difficulty with senses of purpose and importance and self-created motivation, and with it came an inability to understand anyone who wasn’t _exactly_ like him. his mother and her horribly unforgiving upbringing were the cause of that, with the clear rules of ‘perfect or not at all’ always ever present in their household.

They were not royalty, but the way they acted would make someone believe they thought themselves so.

And then his grandfather died and Thalia took over the family fortune and business so Damian got dumped on his father, who’d previously been unaware of his existence, because his mother found _many_ things more important than Damian. Still did, always would, he couldn’t blame her, didn’t blame her, still struggled with not agreeing with her.

He rolled his shoulders, forcing himself to keep his head from frolicking down that merry path.

He wanted to take Dick out for the day, go get lunch somewhere, maybe go shopping, Dick had hit his fifteen-year-old growth spurt and needed a replacement for nigh on his _entire_ wardrobe. Damian was an observant man, he’d had to be from a young age, which meant he noticed all the signs in Dick.

The kid had been a _whirlwind_ to deal with when he’d arrived, and sure he’d calmed down since he’d gone through his mourning and become acclimated, but he was still a vibrant energetic burst of colour and light and happiness that had been stuffed inside a human meatsuit.

And, as he’d hit high school Damian had noticed something strange happening.

So he’d take him out for the day, and he’d have fun with his little brother- who had a lot of main qualities he held highly and one of the big ones was _family_ \- and he’d figure out what had got his happy cackles and grinning quips to become witty smirks and quick cutting insults thinly veiled as funny jabs.

Damian was nursing his second coffee, sitting at the dining table. The only person still in the house by now was Jason, having woken up late, and he was now managing to finish stuffing his breakfast in his mouth so he could scurry off and get dressed. He had some event today, Damian hadn’t been told what it was exactly, he just knew it had to do with one of his college classes. He was a first year and studying literature and English and other crap Damian couldn’t understand the importance of analysing as closely as Jason did, but yet he was always busy, always pouring over something or pacing in the library or hunched over a laptop. Damian had overheard one of his lecturers chatting with Bruce and praising Jason to hell and back, he was still proud.

Jason had always liked reading, but he’d come in from the streets and they didn’t have a lot of books hanging around waiting to be dredged up from the trash and read by streetlight. Damian had managed to bond with Jay because of his love of literature, but it only went as far as Damian’s knowledge, rooted in the high society expectation to recite Shakespeare at the drop of a hat. Once Jason got really into things Damian had to step back and let Alfred take over that bonding time.

Damian frowned, watching as Jason high tailed it out of the dining room, en route for his bedroom. Alfred picked up his empty dishes, scraped clean as always, and made for the kitchen.

“is Richard up yet?” Damian asked, glancing at the clock hanging above the large archway entrance to the room. It was eight thirty, Dick was usually up by now. Sure, he must have slept in, but in the Wayne Manor a sleep in was seven thirty on the dot, maybe eight of you were feeling especially like shit.

“I am unaware, Master Damian,” Alfred said, pursing his lips, “I have as of yet to see him this morning.”

Damian ran his tongue over his teeth, watching the coffee in his mug move.

He finished the drink, shot Alfred a close-lipped-half-smile as he placed the mug in the sink in the kitchen, and headed to his bedroom’s ensuite so he could wash his teeth.

He got dressed, a nice crimson linen button down over charcoal pants- Tim called them Chinos and Damian always groaned in annoyance when he did so, regardless of his small inner amusement- and slid on some decent footwear.

He then headed back to the dining room. Dick was still absent. He checked his watch, nine o’clock.

Had he left already? Was he busy and just not told anyone?

Perhaps hanging out with those public schoolers he’d met some time last year. Damian still didn’t like them, but Dick seemed so less burdened when he was around them and he found himself allowing the crass vagabonds entrance into their home if they ever came by.

Damian sighed, heading upstairs once more. He strode for Dick’s bedroom door and knocked lightly, gaining no response.

He knocked again, louder this time.

“Richard? You in there?”

No response.

Damian sighed, ran a hand through his hair. It was probably the one thing, besides his age, that made him and his father different appearance-wise. Or at least, it was the one thing people commented on in that area, because they would never point out his at least three tones darker skin, because ‘ _them? Racist? Never.’_

There was still no noise from the other side of the door.

“Richard, you okay?”

Nothing.

He banged on the door, his worry coming out exactly how it always did- veiled anger.

“ _Grayson-_ “

The door swung open, and Dick was blinking at him. his room was dark, the curtains closed and light still off.

“hey Dames,” Dick frowned up at him, bleary-eyed, “what’s wrong?”

“it’s nine in the morning-“

“shit, really?”

Damian would brush it off as a sarcastic remark but Dick genuinely seemed surprised to be made aware of the time. Damian’s eyes narrowed.

“yes.”

Dick nodded slowly, “okay, thanks for waking me up.”

“do you still want to come out today?” Damian asked, tilting his head as he waited for the answer. It would tell him everything he needed to know about what to think of this situation.

“uh,” Dick rubbed at his head, “yeah, sorry, I’d love to. Can we still do that or-“

“the time we leave shouldn’t make a difference.”

“cool, okay, uh… I’ll get dressed.”

“Pennyworth made breakfast but it will be cold by now, you could get something in the city.”

“I’d like that,” Dick said, rubbing at his eyes, “we’ll go for brunch instead of lunch, sounds classy and rich. Give me a bit, I’ll be down soon.”

“I’ll make you a mug of coffee in a thermos.”

“thanks big bird.” And Dick closed the door.

Damian frowned at the wood in front of him, then turned on his heel and headed for the kitchen.

Dick had forgotten they had plans, which was very unlike him. on top of that, from what Damian could tell, he was genuinely guilty and embarrassed that he’d done so, but not overly surprised by it. he’d still wanted to go out, which suggested this was not an unwilling situation where Dick was still coming purely to keep up appearances. But for a moment he’d appeared to be genuinely irked by the fact they could still go out. It was less not wanting to go, more… dreading it for some reason?

Damian wasn’t sure. one thing he was _definitely_ aware of was the blinking dazed look in Dick’s eyes and the clear struggles to hold back winces. Damian could have sworn Dick went upstairs to bed at eight p.m., headed for an early night for whatever reason, he’d said he was tired, Damian didn’t buy it.

And yet it appeared to Damian that Dick had decidedly _not_ gone to sleep at eight.

In fact it looked more like he was…

Hungover?

Surely not.

Fuuuuuuuuuuuu _uuuuuuuuuck Dick was hungover._

He didn’t know how he’d managed to have a shower and get dressed without rushing for the bathroom to vomit up whatever he’d eaten last night. His mouth tasted absolutely _disgusting_ and he shoved his toothbrush covered in toothpaste to wash out the stale aftertaste of beer and rum and sugar-filled vodka. Did they have vodka? Wait… what was in the fizzy drinks Artemis brought?

He did not remember. He also did not remember coming home. He was quite sure he recalled climbing the tree…

He rooted around in his cupboard, hoping he still had some-

Aha!

Ibuprofen! He downed two tablets, washed his face again then shoved his sunglasses on the top of his head, letting them hold back his fringe.

He groaned, opening his curtains. Alfred always disapproved of leaving the bedrooms dark and dank during the day. It would be a good way to get his eyes used to the light before he went out with Damian, who would definitely notice if he started wincing at the sun like Dracula.

Dick drew back the curtain and almost audibly hissed. His eyes stung and his headache pounded and he screwed his eyelids shut before shoving his glasses down to protect him.

“fuck you too, sun,” he grumbled, picking up a jacket by the door. He blinked away the spots in his vision, rubbing at his head.

He remembered, just distantly, shoving his clothes from last night under the bed. He checked to make sure they were there, just barely underneath and hidden. he pulled them out and stuffed them in his proper hiding spot; the back of the cupboard, shoved behind a bunch of boxes of crap in a hole in the plaster that seemed older than him.

Then he dragged himself into the kitchen, placing his sunglasses back on the top of his head to pass it off as a fashion choice and not a much-needed accessory. Damian was checking his phone, leaning against the counter, a thermos of coffee at his side.

“right, ready to go?” Damian asked.

Dick shot a thumbs up and grabbed his coffee before quipping, “ye, let’s go.”

Damian gave his glasses a pointed look but seemed to decide to ignore it. they headed to the garage, Damian’s convertible- his seventeenth birthday present- was shiny and clean and as picturesque as usual. Dick slumped into the passenger seat and suddenly realised-

The road from the manor into the city was very windy.

Damian started driving, which he wasn’t particularly _bad_ at, but he didn’t have to be. Dick cleared his throat as he tried not to grab hold of the door to steady himself. His sunglasses were back over his eyes but the sun was still way too much for him. his stomach roiled and his head pounded, the ibuprofen only slowly kicking in.

“you okay there Richard?” Damian asked, eyebrow raised.

“peachy,” Dick grinned, “why do you ask?”

“no reason.”

Dick fought off the sigh. He was had, definitely. Damian was too observant for his own good.

Now the question was, what would Damian do about it? would he tell Bruce? Would he give Dick a lecture? Would he start yelling?

Dick had no idea, he hadn’t seen Damian genuinely angry much, the guy kept a strong lid on his emotions.

So he sat awkwardly in the passenger seat, waiting for his punishment.

Jason was probably the most like Dick, in many ways.

The circus could probably be considered a step up from homeless street rat, but Tim and Damian both came from wealth and because of that there was a degree of distance between them and Jason when he was taken in, the same distance existed when Dick was adopted.

Dick also had struggled with morality and emotions when he’d first arrived. It seemed so weird to say it, because Dick was a bright, fun person, but he struggled with anger in his first two years and still had issues keeping a grip on it sometimes. Jason hadn’t watched his parents die, his dad was never in the picture and his mother was already going through rigor mortis when he found her on a couch with a needle in her arm, so he couldn’t reach that same level of understanding as Bruce had with Dick that came with watching something so important and monumental be ripped from you. _However_ , Dick had gone through his trauma similarly to how Jason had experienced his adjustment period in the manor. And Jason had been the closest to him in age, thus becoming the older brother Dick spent most time around because he felt a little closer to him. Jason had only been thirteen when Dick was taken in, and he’d only just finished his acclimatisation, having been a family member for just over two years.

It all culminated to make him the brother Dick was closest to. Sure, he and Damian had something important between them and he and Tim loved to troll together and cackle as they sat in the lounge with laptops on their knees, but there was something different Jason had with Dick and he couldn’t put a word to it but he was glad it was there.

Unfortunately, the entire family was aware of how close they were. So when one needed to be approached for whatever reason, everyone immediately volunteered the other.

Which is why Jason got a call from Damian at about four o’clock on Sunday, when he was in the college library volunteering. He didn’t need to do it, he wasn’t paid and it likely wouldn’t give him any prestige on his resume, but he enjoyed it and the librarian liked him and tended to sneak him apple pie.

So he was a little peeved to be interrupted by his family, who did not exist in the library. That was the good thing about the college he went to, none of his family had been there, they didn’t know any of the staff, they had never been on the campus. Jason liked it that way, he liked having places specific to parts of his life so he could seclude himself in one when a different one was feeling too… much.

But he answered the call, standing among the shelves.

“Joe’s cremation service, you kill ‘em, we grill ‘em.”

A sigh, and then, “Jason for the love of god.”

“there is no god here, just me, I’m better anyway, what do you want?”

“I need you to have a chat with Richard.”

Jason blinked, then frowned, “what, why?”

“because I took him out this morning, but the day started with him sleeping till nine and opening the door _clearly_ hungover.”

Jason’s brain cogs started turning, very slow and loud, but they weren’t quite working properly.

“I…” Jason blinked, staring at the patterned fabric of the carpet, frowning, not quite processing, “I’m sorry… what?”

“he was hungover.”

“right.” Jason held his phone to his chest, ran a hand through his hair and hissed out “what the fuck?” before replacing his phone to his ear, “how? What- are you _sure_?”

“ _extremely_ sure.”

“but…” Jason was still processing, “where the fuck did he get the alcohol?”

“I don’t know!” Damian defended, “I didn’t know what to say, I just pretended I hadn’t noticed but there’s no way Dick believed that act, I was caught way too off guard. and I don’t know how to breach this? I don’t…”

Damian broke off into a sigh.

“look, could you… talk to him?”

Jason was still slow on the processing power so he stuttered out, “me? What… why? Shouldn’t Bruce?”

“I haven’t told Bruce. I don’t intend to as of yet unless I’m given reason to believe Richard is getting himself into danger.”

“but-“

“Jason, you’re the one he’s closest to.” Jason didn’t get a chance to object and cut in because Damian continued, “He sees me as an older brother, sure, but I’m an _adult_ , and as far as he’s aware I don’t understand. Tim’s a similar situation. You’re older and looked up to, but you’re on a closer level, he’s comfortable talking with you.”

Jason sighed, he was pretty sure that if he approached this situation he’d fuck something up. He was always good at that.

“I don’t know Dames, what if there’s something actually important behind this? I don’t think I-“

“Jason,” Damian cut in, “don’t sell yourself short. Keep me on speed dial in case, get him out of the manor so he doesn’t feel stifled or like someone’s gonna walk in at any moment. Talk to him about some stuff, make sure he’s aware of the fact that he trusts you, and then find out if there’s anything wrong.”

Jason took a deep breath.

“okay.”

“okay?”

“yeah, okay, I’ll give it a shot.”

“ _thank_ you.”

Jason sighed as he stuffed his phone in his pocket. It hit him suddenly that it was almost _Christmas_.

Well… ‘Tis the season.

Dick swung his bag over his shoulder, purposefully rattling it around to make sure he’d packed it well enough that none of the contents made noise.

He grinned, loving the feeling of control and professionalism that came with knowing what he was doing. He was confident. This was an area he knew how to navigate, unlike so many others he was forced to trudge through. It was like a trapeze, a gym mat, a dance floor. This was his strong suit and he would wear it with abundant pride.

He headed down stairs, waving at Tim and Bruce as he passed them.

“Alright, I’m heading out!” Dick called.

“be back before curfew!” Bruce was smiling and went back to his conversation with Tim. It was an unnecessary reminder, Dick was always back by ten- given the family was aware he’d left.

Dick’s hand was on the doorknob when he heard Jason.

“aight, squirt, let’s get going.”

Dick blinked, frowning and turning from the door, “excuse me?”

“you want to go out tonight? I’ll take you.” Jason held up his helmet, his leather jacket already on.

“no, it’s fine,” Dick said, “Wally’s on his way to pick me up, shouldn’t be more than a few minutes, if that.”

“I’m heading into town anyway, and I wanna meet these friends of yours,” Jay grinned, “haven’t had the chance yet, I’m never here when they are.”

“maybe another time, Jay, I’ve got plans.”

“ooh, like what?” Jay asked, stepping closer, “is West’s back seat super comfy or something? Come on, tell me where you’re going, I’ll drop you off.”

Dick seemed to be holding back anger for a moment, then grumbled, “ _no_.”

“what, are you embarrassed about you older bro? I’m hurt,” Jason snickered.

“Jay, what do you want?”

Jason rose an eyebrow and leaned in close, “what are you and your friends doing tonight, Dickie-bird?”

“none of your business.”

Jay hummed, looked pointedly in the direction of Bruce and Tim, “okay, baby bird-“

“I’m not-“

“If you’re so hesitant to tell me what you’re doing then it mustn’t be good.” Jay shot him a smile, “especially seeing as you were hungover three days ago-“

“ _what_?”

“so I’m not letting you go till you tell me what you’re doing.”

Dick glared at him, and Jason had to hand it to the kid, he could be intimidating when he wanted.

“fuck off Jay,” Dick hissed, voice low enough that Bruce and Tim wouldn’t over hear.

“okay, let’s put it this way,” Jay said, holding up his keys, “you’re spending the night with me and we’re gonna talk, so tell West to turn around and learn how to be less dependent.”

“and why would I-“

Jay turned and headed for where Bruce and Tim were, he started speaking, not loud enough for Bruce to bother turning his head, “oh, hey B, did you know-“

“alright!” Dick grabbed him by the arm and began hauling him towards the door to the garage, “shut up, don’t tell Bruce, what the hell do you want?”

Jay swung an arm around Dick’s shoulders and tugged him along, grinning, “we’re just gonna have some brother bonding time, have a chat, no worries.”

Dick grumbled, taking out his phone to text his friends, then scowled and said, “I hate you.”

“nah, you don’t.”

Technically speaking, Jason had moved out of the manor not long after he started going to college. He had an apartment about a block from the campus. He just liked to stop by the manor every now and then and lurk so he could tease and annoy his siblings.

So that’s where they headed.

Dick dropped himself on the couch as soon as Jay let him in.

“okay,” Jay started, sitting on the opposite chair, “so, let’s chat.”

“about what?”

“about where you were drinking, and who with,” Jay said, arms crossed and leveling an unimpressed stare on him.

“did Damian put you up to this?” Dick asked, well aware the answer was obviously yes, without question.

“yes, although I’m not exactly taking his advice on how to handle this.”

“oh, good job.”

Jay sighed, leaning back into the couch.

“I’m guessing you were out drinking with those friends of yours?” Jay asked, “didn’t take Wally for the type, although I‘ve only seen him in passing.”

Dick groaned and sat up, “look, yeah, I was at a party, that’s all.”

Jay narrowed his eyes, watching Dick’s expression, “at a party?”

“yes,” Dick said, dead panned, “that’s what teens do, remember? Pretty sure I remember you doing it.”

“I’m me though,” Jay said, “no one was surprised-“

“you’re surprised I went to a party and got drunk?” Dick asked, “I’m fifteen, what did you expect?”

“okay,” Jay sighed, rubbing at his face, then looked back up at Dick, “is this the first time?”

Dick took a moment to school his expression and said, “yes.”

Jay gave him a look of complete annoyance, “come on, you’re better at lying than that.”

Dick groaned in annoyance, slumping into the couch.

“how many times?”

“only like, three,” Dick made a face, “and usually I’m better at counting my drinks, I’ve never been _that_ hungover before, like seriously, _Christ_.”

“is it enough to scare you straight?”

“fuck no.”

Jason sighed, “so you’ve just been hanging with friends and drinking. Where’d they get the alcohol?”

Dick shrugged, “it’s Gotham, they find places.”

“Dick,” Jay rubbed at his face, “you have to be careful. There could be something in the drinks, there could be dangerous people-“

“Jay,” Dick rolled his eyes, “trust me, it’s fine. We look after each other when we do shit.”

“oh, so you’re doing shit?” Jay’s eyebrows shot up and Dick looked like he regretted everything he’d done in his life ever, “what kind of shit-“

“Jay-“

“no, no, no, let’s hear about the drunken shenanigans,” Jay said, fixing Dick with an incredulous stare, “what, are you playing truth or dare? Running streets? Parkour?”

“I just meant, like, I’m fine, I’m not gonna jump off a cliff or choke on my own vomit, now _please_ leave me alone, I did actually have plans tonight.”

“oh, yeah, I’m sure they involve whatever’s in this bag here-‘

Dick grabbed hold of the satchel and clung to it, fixing Jason with a glare, “don’t you fucking dare.”

“Oh, well now I’m curious.”

“Jay!”

Jason launched forward to grab the bag, well aware that he was physically stronger than Dick and could force it from his arms easily if he wanted, but he couldn’t be sure if there was something fragile inside and he didn’t want to break whatever was so important to Dick.

Dick kicked at him, scuffed converse pushing him away, “screw off Jay!” he hissed, but Jay spotted the grin he was holding back.

“ _no_ it seems important, what’s Dickie hiding?” Jay poked him in the sides, “love letters from West? Art projects?” he gasped, “tech crap that you learned from Timmy? Are your friends hacking into people’s shit? Or maybe dumpster diving, that sounds about right.”

Dick jabbed Jason in the stomach and then twisted out of his brother’s grip. He poked his tongue at him as he stood, bag still clutched to his chest.

“none-ya business, _bro_ ,” Dick snickered, “now can I _leave_?”

“only if you tell me where you’re going,” Jay said, standing straight and crossing his arms.

Dick sighed and slumped his shoulders, but finally admitted, “the skate park. Wally and M’Gann wanna face off and we want to laugh at them when they inevitably hurt themselves.”

“you’re mixing alcohol and skating-“

“we’re not drinking tonight,” Dick rolled his eyes, “Saturday night was enough for a few more days.”

Jason nodded, “okay, but promise me if something happens you’ll call,” Jay said, giving him as meaningful a look he could muster, “when I was your age I never wanted to ask Bruce for help with anything because I was worried I’d be in huge trouble, but he won’t care if there’s something wrong, and neither will I.”

Dick scowled, “yeah, yeah, whatever, I get it, can I _go now_?”

Jason sighed, picked up his helmet, “yeah, okay, I’ll drop you off, text your mates.”

The wheels of the board hit the ground far too hard and Wally fought not to overcorrect, speeding off on the ground once more, never stopping, never slowing, hitting corners far too abrupt and with plenty of reckless abandon, he showed no signs of letting up.

He pulled a few tricks, making his way from one side of the park to the other, up and down the ramps, jumping up onto rails here and there, grinning wildly as he was lost in the adrenaline.

He came to a skidding stop, his friends sitting on the edge of the half-tunnel, legs dangling. He looked up at them, since the whole park was set into the ground, and gave a dramatic bow.

Artemis whooped, Conner snickered and shook his head, ever the supportive boyfriend who was now jokingly refusing to acknowledge Wally’s dramatic and impressive effort in the name of supporting M’Gann, Kaldur grinned and tossed Wally five bucks.

“told you I’d land it!” Wally all but yelled in his euphoria fuelled state.

“yes, I should have believed you,” Kaldur smiled, “however, you did scuff your shoes.”

Wally checked, his new adidas, which he’d bought himself after saving up from work, had indeed earned a black mark on the side where he’d stumbled somewhere in the performance.

“and there’ll be more to come,” Wally grinned, “these shoes are made for walking baby, and taking the brunt of our bullshit.”

“and that’s just what they’ll do!”

The teens turned, Dick strode up, satchel slung over a shoulder.

“heeeeeyyy!” Artemis called, “we thought you were skimping out on us.”

“nah, just had to take a detour,” Dick pointed over his shoulder at Jason, leaning on his bike as he watched the teens for a moment, “the bro wanted a word.”

“why, does he miss you?” Wally called, running and grabbing hold of the edge of the tunnel, pulling himself up so he could lean on the cement with his elbows propped up, keeping his chest above the lip. The friction of cement on clothes and his small amount of muscle kept him from falling straight back down again.

“no, he’s a git and Damian ratted me out for being hungover Sunday.”

“yikes,” Artemis winced, “no problems?”

“no problems,” Dick sat down on the lip next to Wally. He looked over at Jay pointedly, shot him a smirk and then leaned over and gave Wally a quick kiss.

“not that I’m complaining,” Wally said, raising his eyebrows, “but I thought your fam was on the ‘do not kiss in front of’ list.”

“hey, we’re teens we may as well get rebellious.”

Wally gave a lopsided grin and leaned over to kiss Dick’s cheek, “cause we definitely aren’t rebelling enough.”

“ssh,” Dick giggled, dramatically stage whispering, “he doesn’t know about that yet.”

“does that mean I can come for Christmas lunch?”

“dunno.” Dick smirked and leaned closer, “convince me.”

“will you two get a damn room?” Conner drawled.

Dick poked his tongue out at his friend and Wally shot him a middle finger before realising he was about to lose balance on his precarious perch and quickly grabbed hold of the lip again.

“Okay kid!” they all turned, jumping at Jason’s voice, he waved goodbye, “love you! be safe!”

Dick continued to die inside as Jason laid it on thick, well aware he was only doing it to embarrass him a little.

“fuck off Jay!”

“aww, older bro loves his _lil’ bird_ ,” Artemis snickered and ruffled at Dick’s hair, and he scowled and grumbled while batting her hand away.

Jay drove off, Dick grinned at his friends.

“so,” he said, holding his satchel up, “what are we doing tonight?”

“oh,” Kaldur said, holding up his own bag of gear, “I wonder.”

Dick was no Banksy, he never really intended to be, but he couldn’t go around using his name when they had nights like these, so he opted for the stage name _Nightwing_ , which he used for the Instagram posts he made with all his finer works.

“catch!”

Dick barely noticed where the can was coming from on time, he kicked off the side of the building and grabbed it from the air, the abseil device on the rope gave a couple metres and he slipped, grabbed hold once more as he crashed into the side of the cement, grinning with reckless abandon.

“give me more warning than that, will you!” he called down to Artemis

“hey, you managed it didn’t you?” she cackled.

Dick shook his head, noticing his friends were still having fun being rambunctious scamps on the ground. Wally, Artemis and M’Gann were all there, and Zatanna and Raquel had also joined in. He returned his eyes to his work.

He shook the can of orange paint, the familiar clink of the metal ball inside mixing the contents together added to the feelings of comfort this brought about. This was his element.

This was the closest he got to a trapeze nowadays.

Bruce was great. As soon as Dick had stated his worry over losing his skills Bruce had organised for Dick to have access to a gym frequently. He’d tracked down places with trapezes as well, allowing Dick to keep up his practice and remain the professional gymnast, aerialist, acrobat, that he loved being, that his family prided themselves for being. There was no Grayson who didn’t know how to fly.

The problem was the adrenaline wore off. There were no crowds to perform to, no stakes to rise.

_This?_

He grinned, jumping along the wall with the rope the only thing keeping him from crashing to his demise. He sprayed orange onto the surface, bright and dripping.

 _This was his adrenaline rush_.

“oh, hell yeah!” someone called out below, Dick heard M’Gann giggling and whooping in excitement.

Dick hadn’t lied when he’d told Jay that Wally and M’Gann wanted to face off. He’d just lied about the location.

Tonight, Dick and Kaldur were tagging an apartment complex. It had a perfect wall, completely barren empty cement, with spots on the roof where they could attach ropes with ease and scale down to work. Plenty of people passed the place during the day, but it was far less active at night, which was their preferred working conditions.

M’Gann and Wally were upping their stakes, getting their adrenaline rush by competing to see who could do better. It was difficult to be objective on such a matter, but that was half the point. Wally’s thing was speed, he was a veritable _demon_ on his board. M’Gann, however, seemed to almost _fly_ , which Dick could say coming from a place where that was the whole point. People always said the Graysons must be birds, must be magic, must be _anything_ other than human because god how they _flew_. M’Gann was the same. She pulled off tricks on her bike like it was an extension of her, like it wasn’t several kilograms of metal.

It made watching the two quite dramatic and entertaining.

“how much longer will you two be?” Conner called down to Kaldur and Dick. He was their spotter for the night, making sure their ropes didn’t start fraying or snapping. From his vantage point of the roof he could also see if the cops were coming.

“uh,” Dick looked at where they were at. He and Kaldur had planned out tonight’s masterpiece in school. Kaldur was the one person in their little gang who went to school with him, the rest all went to Gotham high or Eastside, “about two more minutes, maybe?”

Conner nodded, Kaldur hummed his agreement to Dick’s approximation.

“we should have brought the quick-dry black,” Kaldur sighed.

“I told you.”

“I know.”

“hey, should be fine, the drips give it aesthetic.”

“but it’ll make doing the stencils difficult,” Kaldur argued.

“the stencils are just our tags,” Dick shrugged, “at this point, anyone will recognise the symbols, regardless if they’re a bit wonky because they dried slow.”

Kaldur hummed, shuffling further down the wall so he could finish the bottom right corner. Dick grinned as he caught Wally almost landing on his face out of the corner of his eye.

Kaldur and Dick finished up. they climbed up the ropes to get back to the roof, carefully making sure to not step in their masterpiece, and untied all their knots. They then headed back down to the ground.

“aight, let’s get a photo for the gram and get out of here,” Wally said, Skateboard under one arm.

“you did not just call it ‘the gram’,” Dick drawled.

“where are we headed after this?” Artemis asked.

“maybe we could-“

M’Gann was cut off as a small lanky child ran down the street, crashing into several bins and then stumbling further down. The kid- maybe ten or eleven at Dick’s guess- locked wide fearful eyes on them, taking a step back.

More noise followed, however, sounding a lot like angry people chasing the kid, and the stranger seemed to decide to push his luck with the teens before him instead of with whoever was following him.

He stumbled and hid behind Dick’s back, as he was closest.

A group of five people appeared. The place they were in wasn’t really an alley, seeing as there was a pretty big car park behind the apartment complex Dick and Kaldur had just finished tagging. But there was a big building to their left and no exit onto a different street behind them, thus making it feel almost like a back alley. The only escape was through the street entrance the strangers were arriving from, or to run across the car park.

Dick shot the kid behind him a look. He had black hair and blue eyes, wearing a worn red jumper with holes in it and a big tear down the front that revealed he wasn’t wearing a shirt beneath it. Dick was wearing three layers and still shivered at the sight, it was Christmas, how was the kid surviving in a mere jumper?

“what the hell-“

“oi!” one of the newcomers cut his voice off, drawing all the attention back to them, “git outta here!”

“we should-“

“why?!” Dick called back, squaring his stance so he was protecting the kid behind him, Zatanna shot him a concerned look, clearly having been about to say they should leave.

“this kid ‘ere,” one of the brutes sneered, pointing at the child shaking behind Dick’s back, “took som’in’ o’ ours, we want it back. ain’t your business kiddies, run along.”

Dick rose an eyebrow and gave the kid behind him a look, “what’s your name, buddy?”

“Billy,” he said, jaw tight and watching the five men with wide eyes, “Billy Batson.”

Dick nodded, then turned his gaze back to the men.

“Dick,” M’Gann hissed at him, “we should _go now_.”

“we’re not letting them beat Billy’s ass into a pulp,” Dick said back, voice low.

“agreed,” Conner smirked, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles.

Conner was a tad shorter than the brutes, and maybe a little thinner, but he was still about 210 pounds of _muscle_. He was seventeen, and he’d spent about eight of his years inside a gym, especially a boxing ring, seeing as his adopted dad had left him with all kinds of angst to work out once his biological father found out about him and swooped in to claim custody. His old daddy was a white privileged rich dude, but he’d expected Conner to be the perfect son, masculine and a manly man; so he could tussle with the big boys, had done so plenty, he was lined up to fight in the national competition next year. _again_.

“uh, Conner,” Raquel said, “as much as I’m sure you could get out of this one with a still running pulse, the rest of us _aren’t looking so good_.”

“quit stallin’ kiddies,” one of the brutes snapped, stalking forward, “hand ‘im over or suffer the consequences.”

“please don’t-“ Billy whimpered.

And it was at that very moment that Dick knew there was no way in _hell_ he was letting this kid get hurt.

He squared his jaw, stood straight to reach his full- not very impressive quite yet- height, and glared the men down.

“you’re not touching him,” he hissed.

Was this how Damian felt when he’d stood in front of Dick when someone tried to mug them coming home, so many months ago?

Huh.

“suit yourself,” the brute snapped, and lunged forward.

Now, there are some things the press doesn’t realise about Dick Grayson.

And a big one is that he grew up in a circus that travelled the world and regularly got bombarded with mobs.

He knew how to throw a damn punch.

They held off the assholes for a bit, but soon they decided to high tail it.

Artemis and Zatanna had their skates on, Kaldur managed to shove his on quickly too. Wally, Dick and Conner grabbed their boards fast, M’Gann shoved Raquel’s bike in her direction right before grabbing her own and Dick made sure he pushed Billy in M’Gann’s direction when she did so.

They high tailed it, jumping over the short fence into the carpark and scattering across the bitumen. The brutes followed for a while, but soon gave up after they watched them pulling tricks and parkouring over any obstacles, they just weren’t fast enough to keep up.

All eight, plus Billy who was clinging to M’Gann as she rode, sped through the streets until they were about three blocks away, right outside a Vietnamese store that Artemis’ Uncles owned.

Artemis took a moment to catch her breath, the sides of her skates having gained a few more scratches, then announced that she would head in and order some food and that they could all make themselves comfortable in their usual booth in the back corner of the store.

“can… can I stay with you guys for a bit?” Billy asked Dick.

He shot him a grin then tussled his hair, “sure kid, no problem.”

He looked at Dick like he’d just hung the stars in the sky, grinning and walking by his side, eyes glancing at the back of his jacket.

Dick didn’t catch what the kid was looking at. He noticed the hole in the kids jumper and figured he was cold, it was _December_ after all, and slung his jacket around his shoulders.

Billy’s eyes sparkled as he watched him do it, looking at Dick like he was his new role model, “thank you.”

“sure kid.”

Billy cuddled up in the corner of the booth, clinging to the jacket and staring at the table as his adrenaline slowly wore off.

Dick chatted with one of the people working, a friend of his who was washing dishes at the moment. He knew them from school, they were part of the Wayne scholarship fund, and it was through them that he’d met Artemis.

Of course, a few months later he’d have met her anyway, after Oliver Queen took her in. Dick still couldn’t believe that had happened, it seemed impossible. He couldn’t get over how much she and Roy hated each other, it was hilarious.

Eventually his friend had to do something else and Dick bid farewell, walking slowly through the restaurant on his way to his friends, crowded in the large booth at the very back corner of the restaurant.

Wally met him on the way there.

“picking up another stray?” he asked, “how many jackets do you have? Or do you just paint a new one every time you hand one out?”

Dick blinked, “what?”

Wally indicated to Billy, now slowly talking to M’Gann, still clinging to the jacket.

“he recognises the symbol,” Wally said, like it was obvious. Because it was. Dick didn’t know how that hadn’t clicked.

Dick had a quick easy symbol he used as his Nightwing signature, he had a stencil in his bag that he used to claim all his arts projects. But he had a more intricate version he liked to paint here and there as its own entire piece, which often made its way onto the jacket he wore on these nights. It was why his family _couldn’t_ find them.

Dick shrugged, “I still don’t get what you’re saying.”

“this is the fourth child you have taken pity on while we’ve been out having fun,” Wally said, “and it’s the third one you’ve handed one of your precious jackets to. Soon there’s gonna be a small army of children running about with Nightwing jumpers.”

Dick grinned, “what’s wrong with that?”

“nothing, it’s just-“ Wally sighed. The two had stopped walking, now leaning against the wall that split the restaurant in half. Behind them was the room full of tables and chairs, they were in the section with booths lining the right wall. Dick’s back pressed into the archway of the wall, frowning up at Wally.

“people are starting to talk,” Wally said, slowly, “at first, you and Kaldur were just artists, political sometimes, but artists. You tagged buildings and posted it, leaving no trace, that was nothing new.”

“but?” Dick prompted.

“but,” Wally continued, “now we’ve started sticking our necks out. Helping kids, getting in the way of people who are almost _definitely_ mobsters. This is gonna blow up in our faces. I’ve already heard people at school talking about Nightwing and Tempest. They think you’re some kind of vigilantes wanting to make a point.”

“we’re not.”

“I know, but-“

“but what?” Dick asked, frowning, “all we’re doing is graffiti, and parkour, and maybe a _bit_ of breaking and entering, but that’s only into places we know, to get stuff and stick it to Artemis’ dad,” Dick said, “the cops-“

“could take this seriously,” Wally said, “Dick we could get into serious trouble with this.”

“come on, Wally,” Dick grinned, “don’t you think you’re being a bit dramatic?”

Wally’s eyes narrowed. He whipped out his phone and snapped a photo of Dick’s face and shoved the screen toward him.

Oh.

“does this make you think I’m being dramatic?”

Dick grit his teeth, but found it aggravated his jaw.

He’d been pretending he hadn’t noticed the punch one of the guys had landed to his face. It was becoming more difficult but he was a very good actor. He didn’t think it was that hard, he’d dodged at the nick of time and missed the full brunt of it, even though he’d felt the ring on the guy’s finger hit skin in a stinging flare of pain.

Apparently he was wrong. Wally’s photo showed the bruise that was beginning to form, and by the looks it would be a bad one. There was a split in his skin, starting to bleed, Dick wiped away the bead of blood he hadn’t realised was there. The bruise was going pink and spotted like a rash around the cut, the epicentre of the hit, blues were beginning to flush around the middle. Dick had seen bad punches before and the kind of bruises that showed up, they were not pretty. He was probably lucky his cheek wasn’t swelling.

 _Fuck_ , how was he gonna hide this from his family?

Dick swallowed, then sighed.

“I can’t just not help out a scared kid, Walls,” Dick said.

Wally’s shoulders loosened slightly, “I know, it’s one of the things I love about you, even though it makes me _insanely_ worried.”

“I’ll be fine,” Dick said with a wicked grin that made Wally’s gut pull itself into knots, “I’m a son of Bruce Wayne, I can get out of trouble.”

Wally sighed once more, but kissed Dick on the cheek that wasn’t bruising.

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

They threaded their hands together and headed over to their friends.

Tim rubbed at his face, sighing and leaning closer to his screen. He frowned. Did he read that right?

No. he swallowed two more mouthfuls of coffee, blinked, shook his head of cobwebs and focused back on the text he was trying to read.

It was only just approaching ten o’clock, it was not late enough for him to be having this much difficulty. Sure, he’d worked up an impressive sleep debt in the past few weeks and he’d woken up at about 5:30 that morning, but…

Okay, yeah, there was no ‘but’ here, he should be asleep by now.

But sleep was for the weak and he had to read these emails.

There was a knock on the door and Tim groaned, rubbing at his face as he stood from his chair.

“yeah, Dames, I know I’m behind, I’m getting there-“

He opened the door to find his little brother, Dick, standing awkwardly. He was facing the end of the hall, so Tim could only see the right side of his face. His hair was a mess, his shoulders slumped in… defeat? Surely Tim was reading his body language wrong.

But no, Dick rubbed at the back of his neck and said, “please don’t freak out, I just need your help for a sec.”

Tim frowned, suddenly very awake, “ _what_ is wrong?”

Dick swallowed, pursed his lips and turned so Tim could now see the left side of his face.

“WHAT IN THE ACTUAL-“

“SHUT UP- _shut up_ , I _said don’t freak out_!”

“Dick, your face is the colour of Jason’s prom suit!” Tim hissed.

“it’s not that bad,” Dick winced, finger tips ghosting over the skin in a nervous movement, “I just need you to look at it. I don’t… know what I’m doing.”

Tim blinked, eyebrows shooting up, “what?”

“you did your first aid course,” Dick shoved his hands in his pockets, “and I know you know how to dress wounds and stuff and… I don’t know, can you just look at my jaw, it feels sore.”

“I…” Tim stuttered, “uh, right, yeah, okay, supplies are in the kitchen.”

Dick nodded silently and followed Tim downstairs and to the kitchen.

Dick sat on the counter while Tim pulled Alfred’s first aid kit out of the cupboard.

“why didn’t you talk to Alfie?” Tim asked.

“he’d tell Bruce.”

“he wouldn’t,” Tim snorted.

Dick shrugged with one shoulder, “maybe not, but… I don’t know, you were closer.” He crossed his arms and hunched, looking at the tiled floor with a frown.

Tim got out a clean cloth and put it on the bottle of isopropyl, flicked it so the liquid just dampened the spot over the open lid, then placed it back on the counter. He folded the cloth so the liquid soaked through a few layers, he didn’t need the soaked spot to contact Dick’s wound and send him screeching, he held it up in front of Dick.

“this’ll sting,” he warned.

Dick nodded. Tim placed it gently to his cheek, below the wound, wiping away the blood that had dripped down. As the blood was removed it revealed a purple and blue bruise spread over Dick’s jaw and creeping up towards his cheek. Tim wasn’t well-acquainted with physical wounds, even though he’d done the work to become certified to give first aid. He’d never actually ended up _needing_ the qualification, just liked knowing what to do if something happened, it gave a sense of control and competency that he found comforting whenever his brain struggled with ‘what-ifs’ about his family’s safety.

But his brother had taken a hit- a _hard_ one- and he hadn’t been there. hadn’t been available to stand in the way, or immediately give aid. The bruise had had time to form and the blood a chance to clot the wound, this was at least an hour old by now, maybe a touch more.

Once Tim had finished getting the dripped blood off Dick’s skin he moved up to the root of the stain. He brushed against the split in his skin and Dick clenched his jaw, then winced as it aggravated the wound.

“just try to relax,” Tim said, brushing away the old blood that had dried and making sure the wound was clean. His brother was _not_ getting an infection today, as long as he could help it.

Tim studied the cut as soon as the blood was gone, placing the cloth on the sink on Dick’s right.

He sighed, frowning, “it should probably be stitched.”

“it’s only small.”

“thus only earning one or two stitches,” Tim grumbled, knowing Dick would say no to going to a hospital.

“stick a band aid on it and I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll do you one better,” Tim said, taking out a roll of medical tape, the thin kind used to tape wounds together. He cut off three strips, just under an inch long each.

He held Dick’s head, his brother grumbling about it but letting Tim work. He taped the wound closed, a piece on each side and in the middle of the cut. Tim dabbed some betadine on a cotton pad and tapped that on the wound as well for good measure, then grabbed out a decent sized band aid and placed that over it.

“okay,” Tim sighed, “you said your jaw was sore?”

Dick nodded, slowly, pointing to the spot where the blue and purple was spotting his skin in flowers of blood-flushed splotches. “it’s aching and my neck hurts when I move.”

Tim bit on his lip, “that’s definitely a doctor thing, Dickie,” Tim said, “first aid doesn’t cover hairline fractures.”

“I don’t think it’s _that_ bad,” Dick said, looking away guiltily. He’d come to Tim for help, he did think there was a chance it was that bad, but he felt the need to downplay. Tim understood, albeit only a little.

Tim sighed, gently taking hold of Dick’s jaw and pressing lightly along the bone, looking for swelling.

“any spots hurt especially bad?”

“no more than any others.”

“mmm.”

Tim moved his head side to side, around, listening for a crack or a crunch. Nothing, no sound, and Dick held any winces back. it couldn’t be too bad.

Eventually Tim moved away, beginning to pack up the first aid kit, “you should still get Alfie to look at it.”

Dick didn’t offer a rebuttal or defence, just continued to sit on the counter.

Tim put the kit way and leaned against the counter, hip cut by the corner. He was towering over Dick, due to the fact he was older and standing and Dick was slumping.

“you gonna tell me why you got punched in the face?”

“I didn’t-“

“what else would give you a bruise like that?” Tim cut out a little too coldly, a little too close to a snappish tone, and he took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax, “sorry.”

Dick swallowed and mumbled, “I’s okay.”

“Dick,” Tim said, this time managing to get across the worry in his tone instead of the anger that came with knowing someone had hurt his brother, “what happened?”

Dick floundered for words for a moment.

“wait,” Tim frowned, “didn’t you leave the house with Jay?”

“yeah.”

Tim’s eyes narrowed, “what-“

“it wasn’t him!” Dick cut in before Tim could think anything.

“I didn’t-“ Tim’s eyes turned wide, “I didn’t mean- I didn’t _think_ it was him. but where is he?”

Dick sighed, “he let me go hang with my friends once he was finished his interrogation.”

“interrogation?” Tim glanced around, confused, as if expecting the room would give him a straight answer, “what d’you mean?”

Dick scrunched his nose up but gave in.

“I came home drunk Saturday night,” Dick grumbled, “and Damian noticed when I was hungover Sunday morning and he made Jay ask about it because he was too scared.”

Tim blinked.

He… what?

“you were… drunk.” Tim said, trying to wrap his head around it, “okay. Okay, who with?”

“my friends.”

“those public schoolers?”

“don’t say it like that,” Dick scowled.

“I didn’t-“ Tim broke off into a sigh, for what was probably the hundredth time that night, “were you with them tonight?”

Dick pursed his lips and looked at his scuffed converse, “yeah.”

Tim nodded, “what happened?”

Dick shrugged one shoulder, “we were just hanging around and this kid came running, he was trying to escape these guys and he hid behind me-“

“Jesus _Christ,_ Dick, don’t tell me you picked a fight with street thugs,” Tim hissed.

Dick grimaced and kept looking at his feet.

“oh for the love of,” Tim mumbled, turning away from Dick and running a hand through his hair as he started pacing, “you’re kidding me?!”

“he was just a kid! what was I supposed to do?”

Tim whirled on him, pointing a finger at his face, “a punch is the _least_ you could’ve gotten, Dick you could’ve gotten yourself _killed_ , are you _insane_? Just because you do martial arts as an extracurricular doesn’t make you Captain America!”

Dick swallowed, somehow getting smaller as he continued to watch his toes.

“Dick, look at me.”

He did not.

Tim sighed and held him by the shoulders, leaning down to try and look Dick in the eyes.

“Dick, I’m sorry I snapped at you, but you can’t go running into danger to save every person who gives you sad eyes and a pout.”

“but Bruce does,” Dick whispered, “all the time, when we’re out, he stands up for people and he helps them and-“

“Bruce is an adult, he isn’t five foot three and lanky and as intimidating as a rabbit-“

“hey-“

“Dick.” Tim shook his shoulders lightly, trying to get it through to him how worried he was, how serious this was, “you’re just a kid. Gotham street thugs don’t give a damn about your age, they’ll knock you out and beat you to a pulp or _worse_ and none of us will know till the morning, please, promise me you won’t _do this again_.”

Dick finally looked at him, swallowed, “I’m sorry.”

“that’s not-“

“but I can’t just turn away if I can help. This was the worst I got, and we saved that kids ass,” Dick said, “you should’ve seen his face, he was _terrified_ and standing behind me, clinging to my back as he asked me not to hand him over to the people chasing him, and I couldn’t walk away.”

“so you call the cops-“

“they wouldn’t have come in time, you _know_ that,” Dick hissed, “and that’s provided they gave enough of a damn to show up at all. What would _you_ ’ve done?”

Tim sighed and dropped his head on Dick’s shoulder, “c’mon Dickie, don’t do that-“

“what would you have done?” Dick repeated, voice strong.

Tim worked his jaw and stood straight, hands still on Dick’s shoulders.

He dropped them, they hit his sides with a slap as he gave in, “probably what you did, if I’m being honest.”

“yeah, there goes your moral high ground,” Dick drawled.

Tim dropped his hands on his hips, sucking on his teeth in annoyance.

Dick grinned, picking at his hands. Tim narrowed in on the nervous movement. There was orange and black stains on them that looked like paint.

Tim grabbed his hands, Dick shot him a raised eyebrow.

“you landed a few hits of your own,” Tim said, looking at the red of Dick’s knuckles, the pink-ish rash-like bruise that came from friction.

Dick grinned, “I’m not so hopeless.”

“mmm,” Tim hummed, giving away what he was actually looking at as he showed Dick the stains he’d eyed, “spray paint.”

Dick stilled, frozen.

“uh, I can explain-“

“you were vandalising-“

“I wasn’t-“

“Dick don’t lie to me.”

Dick’s mouth snapped shut, teeth making a click.

Tim crossed his arms and levelled an unimpressed stare on Dick that he’d learned from Bruce.

Dick’s hands fidgeted as he picked at the dried paint.

“me and Kal-“

“Kaldur and I,” Tim corrected.

“do you want me to fucking explain or not?”

Tim gave him an apologetic look and let him continue. His nerves were short because of all this, but he’d neglected to think of the fact that Dick’s nerves were likely just as frayed if not more, considering he was the one who’d actually taken the hit.

Dick ran a hand through his hair, “Kaldur and I run these… accounts on Instagram, they’re kind of popular now actually, they’re graffiti art ones-“

“ _you’re_ Nightwing,” Tim cut in, staring at him in utter shock. Dick blinked with a matching expression, not expecting Tim to have known about it all.

“I… yeah. Kaldur is Tempest.”

“you’ve got to be shitting me, that’s _your_ artwork?” Tim asked. Dick could hear in his voice that he was trying to be mad because of the illegal edge to it all, but all Dick could focus on was the proud and impressed tone.

Dick smiled slightly, “yeah.”

Tim took a dep breath, trying to accommodate the two warring sides of his reaction.

“this is really dangerous, Dick, and also very illegal,” he started.

“…but?” Dick gave a sheepish smile.

“but your work is really good and impressive and _I am so proud of you_ ,” Tim tackled him in a hug.

Dick squirmed, pouting, “Ew, gross, let go of me, you stink.”

Tim snickered, hugging him closer. Then he drew back and ruffled his hair.

“I will put it on record that I have to disapprove, as your older brother.”

“of course.”

“but I won’t tell Bruce.”

“ _thank_ you,” Dick said.

Tim giggled, shaking his head, “I can’t believe you’ve started a glorified street runner graffiti club, what the _hell_ Dick.”

Dick grinned, sliding off the counter, “don’t tell Damian or Jason either.”

Tim had already got out his phone, “oh, no, no, no, they’re hearing _all_ about this.”

Dick lurched forward for the phone and Tim responded by holding it high up in the air out of Dick’s reach.

“Jason didn’t even get into _school_ fights, I have to rub this in his face,” Tim snickered.

“nooooooo,” Dick whined, “if Damian hears about this he’ll lock me in the house for the rest of my teenaged life!”

“he will not,” Tim snorted, “and anyway, they’re gonna find out because your face is the colour of a blueberry, okay, get over it. we can sneak you around Bruce tomorrow, and he’s gonna be staying the night in Star and won’t be back till Christmas.”

Dick groaned and grumbled but finally stopped trying to grab at Tim’s phone. He huffed as he listened to Tim filling Jason in on the situation, chiming in in annoyance every now and then when Tim was over-aggrandising or being too dramatic.

Eventually the call was over and Dick continued to level a glare on Tim.

“go to bed, I’m telling Damian.”

“no way am I letting you explain it while I’m not there to correct you.”

“go. to. _Bed_.” Tim ordered, ruffled his hair and headed for the door.

Dick sighed but knew it was probably the best course of action. He moped up to his bedroom so he could have a shower, hoping Tim didn’t spin too wild of a tale.

The next morning was filled with anxiety inducing shenanigans as the brothers snuck around the house James Bond style in an effort to avoid Bruce. There was a point they’d even had to throw Jason to the wolves and make him act as a distraction as the rest skedaddled down the hallway. Jason had awkwardly smiled and ground out past his teeth a ‘heeeeeyyy, Bruce, didn’t see you there!’ as he attempted to lean on the wall and had instead nearly crashed into a flower pot atop a short column. Tim had lagged behind Damian and Dick, cell phone in one hand and the other covering his mouth as he giggled and quietly announced to himself ‘oh, this is going on the 21st birthday slide show of awkward videos’.

It was an adventure getting Dick to his breakfast without Bruce ever once laying eyes on him for more than a second, but it was achieved nonetheless.

Thursdays were Jason’s free days, at the moment at least, his schedule had a tendency to change every other month, so he decided to do some research on what this whole ‘Nightwing’ situation was.

Tim seemed to know about it all, but didn’t bother to elaborate on it after explaining things briefly to Jason. Jay had to admit, he was kinda mad. After coming in from the streets Jason had effectively hung up his old habits of picking fights and dealing with thugs. He’d wanted to assimilate into the family quickly so people stopped picking on him in the news. He bugged Bruce about relief efforts and ways to help people he knew would actually make a difference, even gone and found some of his old allies and friends, but…

Well, he’d decided quickly that he didn’t like being known as a charity case and had thus acted accordingly to make people forget they ever considered him such.

He regretted that now, had for a while.

But Dick? He didn’t consider him the type to start a glorified street runner gang. A tiny little part of Jason, deep down, was a little proud. Especially once he opened up Instagram and hunted down that account.

‘@K.Nightwing.1.1.2.’

The icon was a weird bird-looking symbol, bright blue and the feathers seemingly dripping. There was a dark orange background behind it, the colours popping against one another.

The bio read:

‘Gotham streets needed a pick-me-up  
Check out my buddy ‘@Sea_Tempest_93’  
#ratforpresidant2k16’

Jason sighed, leaning further back in his couch, not bothering to make sense of anything in the realm of teenaged jokes. He was only 19, he shouldn’t be so behind on meme culture.

He scrolled on, eyes scanning over the artworks already posted. The most recent one was from the night before, according to the date on the post when he tapped it. the artwork was an explosion of colour on the edges, swirling inwards like a wormhole, growing darker as it approached the centre, from the middle came shadows of bats flying out. Two stencils in the bottom right corner were dripping slightly, one in a shape similar to the weird bird in the icon, but simplified, the other a stylised upside down ‘V’, or perhaps an ‘A’

Jason had to admit, the work was… interesting?

He scrolled on to the next post.

And the next.

And the next.

He soon found himself spiralling through them all, eyes unable to leave the screen. He’d seen some of these, out on the Gotham streets. He’d thought they were nice, had taken photos of a few, if he’d known it was common for street artists to put their work on the internet he’d have tracked the account down way sooner.

Eventually he found his way to the first image posted, the first artwork the famed Nightwing had splashed onto Gotham’s landscape. From about fourteen months ago.

The clouds looked far too intricately shaded to have been done with spray paint, they had to have been meticulously done by brush. The blue sky turned from light at the bottom to dark and star-filled at the top.

There were no lines, just bars. Hands clasped around them. Three people hanging from them, mid-flight, in shades of blue and yellow and gold. Hair tussled wildly in the wind, faces rendered with precision and care, three sets of blue eyes shining, toes pointed, smiles bright.

Jason put the phone down with a sigh. He knew exactly what street it was just from the image.

He picked up his keys, jacket, helmet, raised his phone to an ear after calling a number in his recent list.

The call clicked open as Damian picked up his phone.

“what’s wrong?”

“I need you to meet me in the city,” Jason said, “I need to show you something.”

The mural was even more spectacular in person. Jason had to crane his neck to look at it. the air was crisp, it was still decently early in the morning and his breath puffed out before him. his face was stinging slightly, his nose and cheeks were probably pink by now.

The colours were a little desaturated compared to the post on Instagram, pieces had been scuffed and a few spots of colour were gone due to cement having peeled off. Jason found himself preferring it this way, slightly aged and showing the process of time, the weathering that inevitably faced anything. It seemed more realistic to view these art pieces as they were in life, slowly crumbling as time swept over them slowly, like a wave on stone smoothing edges down. People so often gripped onto things, refused to believe that time could have effect because they were scared of inconsistency, of the inevitability of things ending.

Jason was scared of anything that lasted forever. Things had to change or end, one or the other. Maybe that’s why he could never keep a girlfriend long.

His hand grazed the cement over the symbol stencilled on the lower right corner of the artwork. Dick’s stylised bird, black against the concrete, a signature perfect for Dick. Why squiggle some lines reminiscent of a name? not Dick’s style.

“okay, I’m here,” Damian drawled from the entrance of the alley, “why is that?”

There was a café further down the alley, people milling about and the sounds of breakfast being ordered and served. This was one of the few alleys in Gotham that wasn’t a dirty piece of shit land between two apartments. The open street was on both ends, the corners were shops, there weren’t garbage bins pressed against the sides.

Jason nodded towards the mural on the wall, and said, “this was done about fourteen months ago.”

Damian strode over, standing next to Jason.

“oh,” he said, eyes having landed on the meticulously done mural before him.

“yeah,” Jason said, “you know, if you’re gonna be mad about this-“

“I’m not mad about this,” Damian cut in.

“you are,” Jason said.

“did I chew him out this morning?”

“no, because we all prioritized keeping this from Bruce till we had a chance to actually talk to Dick about it all,” Jason said, “and, surprising, I know, but I actually know you decently well Damian, which means I know you’re stewing.”

Damian sighed, hands in the pockets of his coat, the collar turned up.

“this is illegal,” Damian said, eyes not leaving the art, “he’s drinking, picking fights, vandalising-“

“it’s art,” Jason said, making a face.

“he can make art without spray painting it on someone else’s property,” Damian said, “If this gets out into the public the PR catastrophe alone would be a nightmare. I have a whole ass studio, if he wanted I’d let him use it-“

“does he know that?” Jason asked, raising an eyebrow, “does he know you’d let him into your space?”

Damian was silent, working his jaw.

“look, Damian, I don’t want to admit it either,” Jason said, “but obviously he’s dealing with stuff and this is his way of coping, and his friends are helping with that.” Jason finally turned from the wall, crossed his arms, “we haven’t noticed, haven’t been paying attention.”

“that doesn’t mean I’m not gonna try and talk him out of this as soon as I find the time,” Damian said, “this is dangerous and Dick should know better. And these friends of his are goading him on-“

“don’t you dare.” Jason grabbed him by the arm to make him look him in the eye, “don’t even think about getting between him and his friends, don’t you dare try and take this away from him.”

“I’m not going to let him run down this path till he ends up wound up in the fucking Gotham underworld,” Damian hissed, “cause that’s where this is going, Jason, he’s going to bite off more than he can chew and get into deep shit and it will be too late to stand in the way-“

“then stop acting like an idol and start acting like an older brother!”

Damian scowled, “ _excuse_ me?”

“you’re always this perfect example!” Jason’s scowl was twice as dangerous as Damian’s, “you’re the oldest, the perfect son, the ideal, and Dick eats that shit up because he _loves you_ , damnit, and he thinks the best way to get Bruce’s approval is to be just like you, but he _can’t be that_.” Jason took a deep breath, trying to reign in the anger before the general public took notice of them and decided to start spreading gossip about the Wayne’s latest drama, “for the love of god, Damian, be his brother for once. You weren’t there for Tim and you _barely_ talked to me, but at least that made sure we were jaded about your very existence and didn’t believe the media’s bullcrap about the perfect Wayne heir. Dick would do anything for you and you don’t realise it and it’s not going to end well.”

Damian’s jaw was tight and beginning to ache with how strongly he was clenching it.

Jason took a deep breath, composed himself, pointed at the mural.

“Dick would rather talk to a cement wall about his feelings than to us,” he said, “that much is evident, because we didn’t know about this and it’s been happening for _at least_ fourteen months. You wanna talk about how he shouldn’t be resorting to this? Fine, I agree. But instead of taking away what he’s managed to make for himself because it’s not the perfect thing you expect of him, why don’t you find a way to help him change it himself.”

Damian’s expression did not change, “are you finished, Todd?”

“finished?” his eyebrows raised and he looked Damian up and down in mild disbelief that became steeled anger, he worked his jaw and then hissed, “yeah, with you.”

He stormed out of the alley, making sure to barge into Damian’s shoulder on the way out.

“do you do commissions?”

Dick blinked, looking up from his desk at the door to his bedroom. Tim was leaning into the room, hand on the doorknob.

“what?”

“commissions,” Tim said, “being paid for artwork.”

“oh,” Dick shrugged, “not really, I wanted to keep the identity a secret, figured payment would make that difficult. I’ve done requests before, and people have come across Kaldur and I in the middle of painting something before and we’ve added things in that they thought of, just for fun.”

“huh.” Tim made a face, “well, if you ever wanted to, you could make a career out of this.”

Dick considered it, “ehh, probably not, I’m not that good and-“

“are you kidding?” Tim asked, “you’re account’s got thousands of followers and people talk about you on twitter-“

Dick snorted, “because my friends and I run around causing drama, it’s not cause of the art.”

“really?” Tim whipped out his phone and pulled something up, “cause I found this.”

He scrolled through a bit then showed Dick a screenshot of a twitter post.

‘my baby just came home with this, said it was from #Nightwing, never seen him so happy!’

There was a picture below the text and Dick recognised the face of Billy, the kid they’d helped out, he was holding up the jacket to show the camera the artwork on it, his face beaming.

“I read some of the comments, too, apparently a few people have run into Nightwing,” Tim said, “you make waves everywhere you go, if you wanted you could do whatever you wanted with this.”

Dick stared at the photo, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“you’re not mad about it all? It’s technically illegal.”

“technically?” Tim snorted, “the people I have to deal with at WE are _technically_ doing illegal things all the time. It’s just a matter of proving it so Bruce has legal reason to get rid of them. There’s corruption all over Gotham, a little vandalism is the _least_ of the city’s worries, besides…” Tim flicked through his photos once more to show Dick a new post, “the city seems to be thanking you for this.”

Dick stared at it, wide eyed. Someone had posted a photo of his and Kaldur’s work, adding a caption about how beautiful it was and the fact that it was close to their store. ‘my customers love it! thanks #Nightwing for the perfect way to make my business unique! #onlyinGotham’.

Dick was going to have to get a twitter account.

“I…” he stared at the screen, “never realised people really cared more than just… liking the artwork.”

Dick didn’t realise that Nightwing existed off of Instagram. He had a small cult following and he figured they were the only ones who knew the name and followed the art process. He figured the general Gotham public just saw the art and thought ‘wow, that’s nice, but has no effect on my life whatsoever, moving on’. The idea that he existed in people’s lives outside of a glance at a wall on the morning commute was a strange one, Dick couldn’t quite comprehend it.

“hey, maybe WE could do a partnership with Nightwing and Tempest,” Tim offered, “Wayne x Gotham Streets, the new clothing line.”

Dick stared wide-eyed at him, “how much of that is a joke?”

Tim smiled, “fifty percent, the rest is dead serious, as I said, you could make this a career.” He took his phone back and slipped it into his pocket, then ruffled Dick’s hair, “give it a thought.”

He headed for the door, then turned as his hand hit the doorknob, “if I asked you to paint something cool on my laptop case, how much would you want?”

Dick’s brain froze over as he tried to comprehend that, “uh…”

He was honestly a little surprised Tim wasn’t asking if he could have a freebie because ‘we’re brothers!’

“like… twenty bucks?”

Tim blinked, frowned, then said, “Imma give you sixty.” Then disappeared into the hallway.

Dick stared at the space his brother had just been standing in.

Then he grabbed his phone and headed to the Appstore, downloading twitter in seconds.

Wally had gone back and gotten photos of the other night’s work and Dick had posted it, but Dick wanted to go get his own photos.

A Thursday morning spent out and about on a quick city walk sounded fun, and he wanted some time to think on everything Tim just said. He called a cab and got dressed.

This was why you never return to the scene of the crime.

Dick had gotten out of the cab a few blocks before his end location, purely because he wanted the chance to walk and think. It was near mid-day but still chilly, December well and truly under way.

His birthday had been mere weeks ago, which was insane. When he was a kid it always felt like the year was ending, like it was something to be excited about. The older he got the less capable of processing the passage of time he became. Christmas was… what tomorrow? The day after? But it didn’t feel that way.

His cheek was still bruised but the sting had long since died. He approached his destination with a degree of confidence that came about with the fact that he had forgotten just how recent his last time in the area was.

The paint still looked fresh. The work hadn’t had a chance to be scuffed or damaged as of yet. Dick whipped out his phone and took several photos from different angles, shifting the camera’s focus as he went and playing with lighting settings. He leant against the wall beneath it, flicking through the images.

“that’s him!”

He froze, thumb hovering above the screen.

His head whipped up to land on the six people very loudly entering the street, one of them shouting- most likely at him seeing as he was the only other one present.

He recognised a few, the men he and his friends had pissed off to protect Billy.

Ah, fuck.

He kicked off from the wall, stepping back as the men stalked closer, “uh, look, I don’t want any trouble.”

“you shoulda thought of that before you and your friends tried to fuck with my boys here,” one of them hissed at him, a permanent scowl etched into his features, face seemingly contorting around his mouth to make it look just as horrendous as possible.

“whaaaaaat? I’ve never seen these guys before in my life!” Dick tried, still backing away. The buildings beside him boxed him in, there was no exit behind him. he could make for the carpark, but as the grunts edged closer that window of opportunity became smaller and smaller.

A small voice in the back of his head told him to try and scale the wall. He was an acrobat and he’d done plenty of Gotham City Parkour, maybe he could-

He glanced behind him, the wall was practically empty of embellishments, entirely un-scalable.

Ah, fuck.

“let’s leave him some place the cops’ll find him, make sure those friends of his get the message.”

Dick’s heart raced at the speed of a cornered rabbit, he stuffed his phone in his pocket and looked around wildly, hesitant backpedalling steps becoming more frantic as the goons continued to advance.

“look, guys, let’s talk about this-“

He made a quick step to his left, as if he was about to run that way, and the goons moved to follow. He bounced on the balls of his feet back to the right and sprinted for the gap of opportunity still available, he was faster than the goons he could jump the rail into the carpark before they could get him.

His hands reached for the bar of the rail, he readied himself to jump-

He was lurched back by the hood of his jumper, the collar came up and he choked, feet scrambling for purchase on the ground as they were ripped from the bitumen.

And then he was tossed, straight into someone else’s grip. Hands circled around his torso and pinned his elbows to his sides. he thrashed, kicking wildly, but the man holding him was way too strong and every move Dick made seemed to do nothing.

He was too busy trying to break free that he didn’t notice the person standing in front of him, grinning with a level of sadism that was almost dripping from his expression. He cracked his knuckles, wound his arm back and delivered the strongest punch Dick had ever experienced in his life.

Given, he hadn’t experienced many punches. But this was definitely number one, do not recommend, never again levels of _ouch_.

He doubled over, breath wheezing out of him as his diaphragm spasmed. Nausea bubbled up, his stomach roiled like a sea in monsoon season and his insides seemed to shriek. He tried to inhale but the air didn’t come, his lungs didn’t move, his chest was still as he worked his jaw and attempted to gasp in air, eyes wide as he panicked. The cold breeze could have become stagnant, liquid, could be bouncing against the back of his throat and straight back out into the skies for all he knew because he _couldn’t get any oxygen in damnit_.

He tried once more, wheezing breaths giving him nothing, his limbs spasmed and his vision swam, for a moment he felt like he’d collapse. he managed to get the tiniest slip of air in on his third try, so little but his lungs felt like they had been inflated with the cleanest air in the universe for a moment before everything settled into clarity once more just in time for his eyes to see and his brain to register, the man was winding up another hit.

He didn’t quite feel it when it landed. All he knew was that he _had_ been standing up, held by someone else’s arms, and then the next thing he knew his face was in the ground.

It was a steady process then. Everything swam and doubled, his vision bounced around like a rubber ball thrown in a small room by a child. There was a bit of a ring in his ears, especially his left one, and the entire left side of his face felt numb for a moment, then cold, then it stung, then erupted into bright, fiery, pits-of-hell levels of pain.

His chin was grinding into the ground beneath him, small pebbles of the cement were flaking off the skin of his face and hands.

He thought he distantly heard someone shouting, calling him a piece of shit, weak for going down at two hits.

Going down.

He was down.

He was on the ground.

He did martial arts, he knew that was _bad_. He had to get up.

He took a deep breath, the oxygen finally going to the right places, and pushed up from his hands as best he could, trying to get his knees under him. everything seemed to tilt onto the right axis for a moment as the oxygen settled into his screaming brain and then-

A kick landed on his chest, he screamed as he was sent rolling on his side once, twice, thrice and then settled on his back, chest afire and breath failing to come to him once more.

He could see the sky above him, bright blue with the odd cloud speckled in.

He whined as he tried to sit up, muscles aching. A hand grabbed onto him by the hair and he yelped, dragged up by the head a few inches from the ground. He struggled to get his feet under him, hands clawing at the fist in his hair, hissing in pain with every move.

“not so confident on your own, huh, shit-face?”

There was laughter from around him, distant yet also ringing between his ears, pinging off the side of his brain. It seemed that the child with the bouncy ball was back and he was having a field day sending sound reverberating around his skull.

“that kid stole some of our product, _punk_ , and you’re the reason we ain’t gettin’ it back.” the man spat the words into his face.

Dick didn’t get a warning. Air whooshed by his face and then the back of his head exploded and he could once more see the sky. Before he could register that the guy had just slammed his head into the ground a heavy booted foot landed on his stomach. he clawed at it, desperation setting in as the man stood above him with eyes glowing with power-fuelled rage.

“maybe we should send you out to make the money we lost, I reckon someone would pay for an hour with you, long as I don’t rough your face up much.”

Dick wanted to start sobbing, but he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to even _scream_ or _plead_ let alone cry.

The foot pushed, Dick could imagine it pressing him down into the ground till his ribs cracked, till the cement opened up and swallowed him, till his heart was squashed beneath the sole of his shoe like jelly.

“HEY!”

The pressure eased and Dick stuttered in breath, not bothering to pay attention to whoever had distracted the grunts momentarily. He needed to take advantage of the short break he’d just been given.

The boot disappeared soon. Sounds faded into the background but Dick thought he heard a fight going on, or some kind of tussle. All he knew for sure was that soon he managed to process the sound of people running away and a voice ordering them to never so much as look at Dick again.

Hands touched his shoulders and Dick scrunched his eyes shut as he winced away, bracing for the impact of the next hit. He couldn’t hear the voice, their words faded into the back of his mind as they went in one ear and out the other, spilling onto the cement. Dick felt a hand on his temple, tapping lightly to get his attention, and another was slipping under his back carefully to help him sit up.

He risked opening his eyes, squinting at the person above him.

“Dami?” he croaked. He couldn’t believe it, surely this was a hallucination, this wasn’t possible.

Words were filtering back in and he caught the end of the sentence Damian said, a rushed out, “…gonna be fine, okay, I promise.”

And then he was being lifted up into the air, cradled against Damian’s chest, which would normally be heart-warming if the movements didn’t make his stomach lurch with the need to empty itself. He held it down, swallowing the acidic taste that was slowly creeping up his throat.

“Dami wha-“ Dick blinked, the world was swaying around, moving with the same motion as a wave pool, Dick was quite sure it wasn’t supposed to be doing that, “wha’re you…” he couldn’t get words to string themselves together. The sounds wouldn’t sharpen, his tongue was leaden, things were slurring together and becoming lost in the waves and swirls of colour and light dancing before his eyes.

“don’t talk, Dickie, just breathe, okay, just hold on, stay awake.”

Dick had never liked taking orders, so he found himself not caring at all about disobeying Damian’s request and slipping off into oblivion.

Damian had not wanted to pay any attention to Jason’s little temper tantrum, largely out of spite. However, in the end he cared about Dick more than he wanted to piss Jason off, so the battle was won out and he ended up downloading this accursed Instagram they were all talking about so he could try and understand what Tim and Jason found so monumental about all this.

The artwork wasn’t the kind of style Damian enjoyed or practiced, but he could see the appeal as well as the signs of skill. Whether he appreciated the style or not he would readily admit that every one of these murals had to have taken hours of painstaking effort and were only achievable thanks to constant practise and skill honing.

The latest one seemed to have been the artwork Dick had said he and Kaldur’Ahm had done the night before. it was certainly… interesting.

He had been walking absentmindedly through the city whilst scrolling through the account and thinking. Rolling Jason’s words around his mind.

He needed to talk to Dick about all this, make him understand that there were safer ways to get his work out there, better methods to get an adrenaline fix. He needed to be able to protect his brother and he couldn’t do that when said brother was going out every other night picking street fights.

He found himself wandering in the direction he knew the latest work was, he recognised the location from the image posted. He wanted to see it and he wasn’t quite sure why, but something about this whole situation made him hate how little he knew. He had fourteen months of information to catch up on and he didn’t like not knowing things.

He rounded the corner into the street he knew the mural was located at and found himself freezing as soon as he laid eyes on the scene.

Dick was sprawled on the ground, from the angle all Damian could see was that he was limp on the cement. A man was standing over him, leaning down and pressing his weight into Dick’s chest via a booted foot. Five other men milled about, leering and grinning.

Damian didn’t think, didn’t plan, didn’t consider, he just stormed forward, a man made purely of hot burning fury and shouted “HEY!”

The men turned to him, the pressure on his brother’s chest disappeared.

For all intents and purposes, Damian should not have won that fight. yes he knew self-defence and had studied martial arts since he was a child, but these were six grown men coming at him at the same time with no regard for a fair fight.

A distant thought in the back of his mind theorized it had something to do with adrenaline and lined up with the scientific hypotheses behind mothers lifting cars off their trapped children.

Most of his brain was coming up with ways to beat the living shit out of these men.

“go near him again and I’ll leave you on a ventilator you pieces of absolute _shit_!” he called after them as they skedaddled from the street.

Damian turned to his brother, who’s eyes were distant and unfocused, the side of his face beginning to bruise even worse than before and the cut that had been taped split even further and bleeding profusely.

He knelt down next to him, eyes going up and down looking for injuries as panic leapt up into his throat. He settled his hands on Dick’s shoulders, a piece of him aching at the flinch and whimper his little brother let out.

“Dick? Hey, it’s me, it’s Damian, I’m not gonna hurt you, okay, I’m here,” he said, looking around for any other possible threats. He needed to get Dick to the hospital _now_ , “you’re gonna be fine, okay, I promise.”

It was a bit of a blur from there. Dick slumped in his arms almost immediately after registering that he was safe there. Damian’s car was parked ages away thanks to him having decided to take a walk, and he didn’t have time to carry Dick there. he’d have stayed in the street he found him in to not jostle the wounds, but that risked the thugs coming back with friends.

He carried him across the car park nearby, finding a far off empty corner, and called an ambulance.

God were they lucky he didn’t have any broken bones.

Mild concussion, hairline fracture on the jaw and bruised ribs. Two stitches to the cut opened on the back of his head, three to the split skin on his cheek. The doctors were busy, they were _always_ busy, but they were Waynes so they were given priority. Until Dick managed to grasp the situation enough and understand what was happening, by then he started making excuses and saying he was fine and that the doctors should go see more important people. because Dick just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea of being important enough to have all the attention, even when he was nursing injuries.

Eventually things quieted down and Damian realised ‘oh, I should probably tell everyone about this’.

He was sitting in the chair next to Dick’s hospital bed. Dick was asleep, peacefully with the aid of some minor pain medication. The doctors didn’t want to go too far with meds due to the concussion but anyone could tell Dick would at least need some ibuprofen.

He pulled his phone out, headed to his recent calls. He could probably make it through telling Jason about this rather quickly, seeing as Jay would hear what happened and hang up immediately to get to the hospital himself. It was the call to Tim that would take time.

However, his finger was hovering above the call button as the door opened and in walked Bruce.

His breathing hitched for a moment as looked up at his father, panic swept in momentarily.

He was stupid, he was so stupid. Of course Bruce would be alerted about this, _of course_. And _of course_ he would immediately drop the work he was supposed to be doing in Star city till Christmas day just to come see his son. Oliver Queen would understand, of course Bruce wouldn’t think _twice-_

“What happened?” Bruce asked, eyes landing on Dick. He was sporting bandages on his chest, peeking out beneath his shirt, as well as a large band aid over the cut on his cheek.

“I…” Damian began, with absolutely no idea as to how to continue. He stood up from the chair and slipped his phone back in his pocket, standing straight.

He wouldn’t register till later that he was acting exactly how he had when living with his mother, that he’d fallen back on that in a time of unsurety, and he would go through the process of being torn up inside later, only to fix himself.

For now he said, “I went for a walk this morning, in the city, Dick texted me to tell me he was also in town and we decided to get some food. When I got to the place to meet him I found six men attacking him, I acted without thinking to get them away,” he said. Bruce was looking between his two sons, his youngest and his oldest, as if he couldn’t decide who to focus more attention on, “it was stupid and I could’ve gotten us both hurt further, but the men left and I called an ambulance.”

Bruce took a deep breath. Damian was much like him in that he did not like being unable to control things, or at least have some ability to influence them. Bruce would not be very happy about the fact that he was unable to stand in the way and take the hits for his son.

“do you know why they attacked him?”

Damian swallowed, hoping he was as good at lying as everyone said because right now he’d have to pull the wool over the eyes of the one person he always hoped to be truthful to, “I don’t know.”

Bruce frowned slightly, looking Dick’s injuries over. He tore his gaze back to Damian, looked him up and down, and then pulled another chair from the side of the room over to the bedside.

“I…” Damian cleared his throat, “assume they wanted money, or maybe they just wanted to attack a public figure or-“

Bruce cut in with an acknowledgment in the form of a grunt, clearly not caring much about what Damian _thought_ could be the reason. He wanted the real explanation and nothing else, anything other than was a waste of his time.

Damian pursed his lips, swallowed, forced the tension in his shoulders to disappear and then sat down once more.

He pulled out his phone, “I’ll call Jason and Tim.”

Bruce nodded, still watching as Dick’s chest rose and fell with each breath.

Damian’s eyes settled on the screen before him, catching on the date.

The 24th.

Oh.

It was Christmas eve. How had he forgotten that?

Dick could only be grateful for the fact that his brothers were good at lying.

He was cleared to leave the hospital not long after he woke up from his nap. He hadn’t blacked out or started bleeding from his extremities or hallucinating so the doctors had to admit to the fact that he would be fine at home under the care of Alfred, who had ample medical training.

Bruce seemed understanding enough to not bombard him with questions, so Dick was able to think up an excuse. He was going for a walk, stopped to admire the graffiti, the grunts recognised him as one of Bruce Wayne’s kids, Damian found him and he passed out not long after.

Lies mixed with truths, they were always the best.

Bruce bought it, and anything Damian had said himself didn’t seem to contradict Dick’s story which only helped. By the time he’d woken up Jason and Tim had arrived so once the explanations were done they continued to fuss over him.

And then they went home, Dick texted Wally to let him know what happened but put a lot more stress on making sure he understood that Dick was _fine_ , and he’d be perfectly okay after some bedrest.

The next problem Dick would have to deal with was Bruce. Fresh out of this, Bruce would likely amp up the overprotection. Dick could probably kiss late nights with friends goodbye, unless he snuck out the window. In his current state he was hesitant to do so.

He sighed, closing Instagram when Wally bid farewell, saying something about Joan needing help in the kitchen. He was about to turn the phone off altogether when he caught the date written on the calendar app.

Thursday the 24th.

Christmas eve.

Oh.

Dick hadn’t gotten all his gifts yet. He’d gotten Alfred’s present, and Jason’s and Bruce’s, but Tim and Damian were still missing. They were always difficult to shop for and Dick had been racking his brain for ideas for a while now.

He kept thinking on it as they arrived at the manor, he went through his medications with Alfred, he got the others to stop fussing and eventually managed to be alone in his room.

That morning felt so long ago, when Tim had asked him if he wanted to make this whole Nightwing situation into a career. Dick absentmindedly turned his laptop on, scrolling through the windows he’d had open before leaving, not overly paying attention to anything.

 _‘Do you do commissions?”_ Tim had asked.

The idea seemed hilarious.

He was the adoptive son of a _Billionaire_ why would he need to do commissions? Bruce gave each of his kids their own debit card at the age of twelve and Dick was very aware of the fact that there was _no way_ the account connected to that card could ever hit zero.

But the thing was, Tim hadn’t asked out of curiosity alone, he’d asked cause he was interested in _having_ some of Dick’s art. In Dick making something for him. a laptop case? That would be plainly visible to anyone Tim worked with.

But his brother… liked his work, so much so he wanted to actively support it. Dick’s chest felt warm and fuzzy and for the life of him he couldn’t figure out why.

Damian was… less supportive.

At the realisation Dick’s warm fuzzy feeling petered out. Dick missed it and the cold it left behind was mildly distracting. He decided to put his time to use, reaching for his sketchbook and his pack of markers.

He flicked to the middle of the book and started scribbling some warm up sketches, letting his mind wander.

Damian had barely spoken to him the entire time that they’d spent sneaking him around Bruce, and he wouldn’t even look at him while at the hospital. his face largely was schooled to expressionless, as per usual, but Dick caught the odd flair of guilt.

But he’d been… going to the artwork?

He had to have been. Why else would he have just stumbled into that street, of all the possible streets to walk into? Had he looked at Dick’s profile? Had he wanted to see the art for himself? Was he conflicted as to what he thought of all this?

He had an idea, at the back of his mind. all the talk about Nightwing and jackets and the stupid crap Tim had said that made Dick feel warm and confident and like he could make something with this, it was coalescing in the back of his head and whispering ideas that were stupid, honestly, that he should pay no heed to but-

Well…

Maybe Damian just needed an olive branch? Maybe Dick just needed to show him what this all meant to him?

He started sketching the idea, barely even noticing when the possibility became a plan.

Christmas in Wayne Manor is always a private affair.

The Christmas parties with work and the galas and the charity events are all done within the first half of the month. Closer friends of the family had a dinner together about a week before Christmas day.

It was a family rule. _Everyone_ blocked out anything work related, school related, _whatever else_ related, and they all sat down and just _existed_ in the same house together.

They didn’t bother with the whole ‘no phones’ policy or any of that crap. They ate breakfast together, usually talking and catching up and spending so much time that it was almost eleven by the time they were all leaving the table.

That was rule number two: Alfred was also not working on Christmas day.

They all chipped in to help make breakfast, dishes got haphazardly piled in the sink and on the bench next to it. Alfred sat with Bruce, who could not cook to save his life, and the two chatted and oversaw the breakfast making shenanigans while the four brothers cackled amongst themselves and joked and burnt a few eggs before they got them right.

Dick was still sore, but he refused to let anyone baby him. he looked like he’d barely slept the night before but he merely chugged some coffee and stood by the stove, slapping Jason’s hand away any time he attempted to steal some of the bacon.

After breakfast they headed for the lounge area, where the tree was as splendidly decorated as it always was, every year. they put on some cheesy Christmas movies in the background and wacked out the board games. Damian almost always won at Monopoly, and if he didn’t Tim was the other reigning champion. Dick and Bruce were constantly neck and neck to take out Cluedo. Jason was a pro at Jenga. They all had a tendency to take the piss when playing The Game of Life. And if the game involved the use of cards Alfred would always win, although the rest of the family had started to notice that he seemed to be grooming Dick to surpass him and inevitably become the best gambler of the family. go figure.

And then they had lunch. most things were made the night before when it came to lunch, like the ham leg and the turkey and a few salads. It was a similar sight to breakfast as the boys put everything together, but this time with help from Bruce and Alfred.

After lunch they washed all the dishes they had been ignoring for hours, doing so together and either chatting or thinking or daydreaming. They existed as a family. then they put Christmas music on and settled down in the lounge in their comfiest clothes and started taking things out from under the tree.

“okay, this one’s for Alfred.”

“here’s Demon Bro’s.”

“Okay Dick-face, don’t break it.”

“ _Jay_ , you’re supposed to _unwrap_ not _decimate_.”

They started with one present each, going through ‘thank you’s and ‘you’re welcome’s and all the necessary stuff. By this point the food was getting to them and they were starting to fall asleep to the sound of Michael Buble.

Dick had two presents he couldn’t give just yet, they were hiding in his room. He’d sneak them to Tim and Damian later.

“okay,” Jason said, looking at one and squinting at Alfred’s beautifully printed hand writing, “uh, this is for Dick.”

Dick put down his mug of hot chocolate and accepted the gift, it was about the size of a console or a big Lego set, and the shape gave Dick no hints as to what it was. He shot Alfred a smile and unwrapped it.

Revealing a belt, decently heavy duty, with compartments along the sides. there were clips for carabiners and straps that could be attached that looked like they turned it into a rock climbing harness almost.

He blinked and then gave Alfred a raised eyebrow.

“If you intend to continue doing such large pieces,” Alfred said, smiling slightly, “I’d prefer you use appropriate equipment, instead of a mere rope with a few expertly done knots.”

Dick continued to stare at him.

“uh…” Tim began awkwardly, glancing at Bruce, “what are you talking about Alfred?”

Bruce eyed the belt and the compartments that seemed the perfect size to house spray paint cans.

“is there something you want to tell me?” Bruce asked Dick, a confused frown on his face that was skewing the words away from the accusatory dad tone that he was going for.

“uhhhhhhhhhhh.”

Damian sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Jason snickered behind a hand.

“Oh, were you not aware, Master Bruce?” Alfred said, his moustache twitching as he held back a smile, “we have two artists in the family, now. however, the youngest seems to prefer more adrenaline-seeking mediums.”

“how long have you known?” Dick asked.

Alfred looked insulted for a moment, “did you honestly _believe_ , Master Dick, that you could sneak out your window of a night _without_ me finding out?”

Dick opened his mouth to retort something but eventually pursed his lips, frowned and said, “actually, yeah, no.” he smiled slightly at the piece of equipment in his hands, “I always figured you’d catch me and stop me.”

“why would I stop you?” Alfred asked, “after all, I let Master Jason sneak out with his friends all those times, did I not?”

“wait you knew-“

“Alfred knows all,” Tim and Dick said in unison.

Jason sighed in annoyance while making a face, then hid it behind his own mug of hot chocolate.

Bruce cleared his throat, “would anyone like to catch me up on this situation?”

“you know those kids that graffitied an image of you in downtown Gotham?” Damian said, “the one with the bat ears?”

Dick remembered that, and he couldn’t help but snort at the memory. That had been about three months ago, he and Bruce had had an argument and Kaldur had immediately known after laying eyes on him. the two had started designing the artwork and all their friends were _ecstatic_ at the idea. It hadn’t gone on Instagram, but he was quite sure a few people had put it up on twitter and tagged Nightwing and Tempest, correctly guessing it was them after looking closely at the art style.

Dick snickered and Tim broke out laughing, “oh my god I forgot about that, was that you?”

Dick grinned and then caught Bruce’s look and let it turn into a semi-awkward smile that he hid behind his hot chocolate, as if he was actually ashamed. Bruce saw straight through the act.

Bruce sighed, Dick got the feeling he was going through the usual monologue of ‘why didn’t I stop at two?’ and Dick couldn’t help but continue cackling.

“thanks Alf!” he eventually said, “this is gonna get a lot of use in.”

“I should hope so, I contacted some of my old friends from before I worked for Mister Wayne to have it designed.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up, “what? So it’s custom?”

“it’s more than custom,” Alfred said, “it’s nigh on military grade.”

Bruce spluttered, Alfred shot him a look and Bruce inevitably decided that Alfred probably knew what he was doing.

Dick gasped, “wait, if Bruce knows, then I can give you guys,” he said, pointing in Damian and Tim’s directions, “your presents.”

“what?” Tim asked, frowning.

Dick shot up to his feet, holding in the wince as his side and chest and, well, _everything_ , still continued to hurt.

He then returned with two gifts. He handed Tim his first.

“awwwww,” Tim grinned, “I was gonna pay you for this you munchkin.”

Dick only stuck his tongue out at him as Tim continued to look at the swirling and twisting patterns on the laptop case. He hadn’t put his Nightwing symbol on it, instead making a new bird insignia that he thought fitted Tim’s style a bit more.

He then turned to Damian and handed him his present, much more worried about how his oldest brother would react.

Damian frowned slightly as he accepted the wrapped parcel. By the softness of it he could already tell it was some form of clothing. Dick dropped back to sit against the couch, watching apprehensively as Damian unwrapped the gift with the same level of decorum as he always held.

His eyes went wide as they landed on what was inside. He was one of the few sitting on a chair, having scrunched his nose up as the other three brothers had gotten comfy on the floor. It left him the room, however, to grab the collar of the coat and hold it up so he could see it all.

It was an overcoat, in a trench-like cut, the exact type that Dick knew Damian liked. The back of the coat was what Damian was looking at.

Because, painted across the shoulder blades and upper back, was a Nightwing symbol. Bright blue against the black, an explosion of yellow and blue and gold acting as a backdrop that dripped down the rest of the back of the coat and splashed up on to the shoulders in a pattern reminiscent of feathers.

Damian let the coat sit in his lap, running the fabric between his fingers as he looked at Dick.

Damian was a nonverbal person when it came to affection. He didn’t say ‘I love you’ or ‘thank you’ or ‘I appreciate you’ because the words always felt stilted coming out of his mouth. He made his love known through physical action and behaviour. It had always been difficult for people to understand him because of that. He and Bruce were similar in that sense, but Bruce had learned to act around it and put on a persona, Damian had despised such an idea from day one and refused to play in to what the media expected of him.

Jason was a largely verbal person, and expressive, and not the type to bullshit or beat around the bush. Tim could pick up on cues and body language, and he _knew_ when Damian was making an effort, but he still was the type to try and talk it out.

Dick was verbal. Was explosive and warm and bright and never shy to say how much he loved someone. But words were words to him, words were sounds, and he could try as much as he wanted to persuade with paragraphs of love and essays of devotion, but he always felt such things fell short.

His father and mother had been lovers in action, in touch, they hugged, and smiled, and even when they couldn’t be all over each other they were evidently in love because of how they acted around each other.

So Dick was verbal, but there was an undercurrent of silent emotion that ran so much deeper, and if you fell into the list of people who got to be loved silently by him then you were one of the luckiest people in the world.

Damian draped the coat over the arm of the chair, shifted onto the floor and pulled Dick into a hug.

Dick latched on, curling his head to fit into the crook of Damian’s neck, and snickered out, “I’m glad you like it.”

“It’s beautiful.” He said it lowly, quietly, so only Dick could hear, “thank you.”

And he let the rest of his emotions and words be expressed silently, because if anyone could understand what he was trying to say without ever having to stumble over the words it was Dick.

They were called from their little world of warmth and encircled arms as Jason said, “how much do I have to pay you for one of those?”

Dick cackled as Damian withdrew from the hug and settled against the couch next to him.

“save me from a gang bashing and I’ll make you one for free.”

Jason just snickered and took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“this makes what I got you really sub-par,” Damian said.

Dick shrugged, “it’s not a competition, besides, isn’t it supposed to be about the gesture?”

The rest of the family snickered as Tim leaned over and grabbed the small, wrapped box from under the tree, Dick’s name neatly printed in gold on it, and handed it to the youngest.

Dick rose an eyebrow and unwrapped it, taking the lid off the box to reveal…

Dick snickered, grinning, as he lifted out one of the leather fingerless gloves, blue seams vibrant against the black, the knuckles reinforced slightly and dotted with matching blue.

“like I said, sub-par.”

“no,” Dick grinned, hugging Damian once more, “I love them, thank you so much!”

A year later Nightwing and Tempest reveal their identities on Instagram, and in the upheaval of media attention it creates, Wayne Enterprises announces their collaboration with the two street artists on a new clothing line and matching accessories.

Queen Consolidated comes clean about one Artemis Crock having done many things that would cause negative press attention, and when people start claiming that a non-rich person would have been put in Juvie by now she comes out and announces a program she intends to run in partnership with Wayne Enterprises that gets kids off the streets and out of gang’s sights. Nightwing and Tempest volunteer to help, running art classes for kids and teens for free as a way to make sure they have access to safe places.

Queen Consolidated announces a collaboration with Nightwing and Tempest as well, and one of the models holds a skateboard expertly painted by one Dick Grayson, who also gave the ginger the kiss-stain he sports in the images.

That Christmas is much the same as the one a year prior, but this time with more guests and far more rambunctious than any Wayne Christmas event before. and none could be more happy about it.

And, of course, there is the most obvious change.

Dick no longer sneaks out his window of a night.


End file.
